Honour Bound (24 page)

One
of the police officers was lying on the ground just head and shoulders
protruding from the line of cars like a punctuation mark in a line of text. The
other was standing across the road from the Mercedes in the standard small arms
isosceles stance. Feet apart, body well balanced, both arms outstretched with
his pistol, held in one hand and supported by the other, forming the apex of a
triangle. The policeman moved carefully to the nearside of the Mercedes and
looked through the window. He moved quickly around the front of the car and
knelt down by the driver’s door. Moments later, he stood up, holstered his
weapon, and went to the side of his fallen colleague.

Norton
returned to the corridor and knelt by the wounded gunman. Another door opened
and he immediately aimed the Sig in the direction of the sound. A scared face,
surrounded by a blue rinse, followed a frail looking hand holding a wooden
stirring spoon. Norton lowered the gun and shouted, "Police operation.
Close that
door."                           

The
face, hand and spoon disappeared. The door slammed followed by the sound of the
key turning in the lock and several bolts sliding home.

Dern
lay against the
wall, the front of his jeans soaked in blood, he was groaning with the pain
from a shattered hip. Norton slapped him twice across the face and he opened
his eyes.

"Hello
my old son," Norton said, "looks like it’s been a busy old morning
for you."

The
man looked at Norton, his dark eyes glazed and unfocussed. Through teeth
gritted with pain, he spat, "Go fuck yourself."

"My,
my, such bad language, that's a bit anti-social. Let's see if we can get you
talking properly."

He
opened
Dern's
jacket and took out the pen he had
noticed when he searched him.

"Now,"
he said, "are you going to tell me who sent you?"

"Go
fuck yourself." The words were slurred and barely audible.

Norton
took his handkerchief from his pocket, pinched
Dern's
nose and pulled it upwards. His mouth automatically opened, allowing Norton to
fill it with the handkerchief. He let go of his nose and took the top off the
pen. Taking care to keep his fingers out of the blood, he pushed the end of the
pen into one of the bullet holes in
Dern's
hip. He
could feel the pen grate slightly as the plastic tip pushed past a rough edge
of bullet-shattered bone. The makeshift gag muffled the volume of the scream.
The man's face, which was already white, lost even more colour, the skin
looking almost translucent.

"I
could try and get those bullets out for you," Norton said, peering
intently at the wound, "or you could tell me who sent you, and I'll leave
it to a surgeon."

The
man said nothing. His eyes fixed on Norton.

"Well
here goes then." Norton said, aiming the pen at the bloody hole in an
exaggerated manner.

"Holmes."
The word was muffled around the handkerchief.

Norton
took a loose corner and pulled it from the man's mouth.
"Pardon?
I didn't quite catch that."

"Peter
Holmes."

"There
now, that didn't hurt did
it.
" He stood up and
dropped the pen in
Dern's
lap. “You can keep the
hanky,” he said, “I've only used it once.”

Norton
went out into the street. The two policemen were still at the rear of the
Mercedes. The man on the ground had taken three hits to the chest and stomach.
He was awake, but was obviously in pain. His body armour would have stopped the
bullets penetrating his body but he probably had several broken ribs.

"There's
another two inside," Norton said, "on the first floor near the lift.
One's still alive, but he'll need a meat wagon."

The
uninjured policeman nodded. "Thanks."

He
handed Norton his ID card and then used his radio to call for a second
ambulance.

-41-

The
Vauxhall was parked in what Norton knew would be the darkest section of the street
when the night drew in. He had squeezed it between a car and a van that were in
the shadows of an overhanging tree. It would be difficult to spot to all but
the most determined observer. From the boot, he took a canvas holdall,
collected from his apartment after waiting for the paramedics to remove
Dern's
unconscious body from the corridor. He had used the
fire exit at the rear of the building to avoid any questions from the growing
army of police gathering at the scene. His first priority had been to get Sarah
to a place of safety, the paperwork could always wait.

"It's
the one with the 'To Let' sign in the front garden," he said, helping her
to balance a number of Chinese take-away cartons in her arms. He followed her
through a wooden gate and along a path at the side of the house. After opening
the door with the skeleton keys, he showed her into the kitchen.

He
had used this house once before to debrief a terrorist leader who had been
captured in a raid in the north of England. It was one of ten owned and
serviced by the ATU, mainly for the close protection of witnesses, and for
other jobs, like
the debrief
, as they arose. The fact
that the street was a dead end had helped Norton choose this particular place.
Any car entering the cul-de-sac could be observed from the upstairs windows. If
the occupants were anyone other than residents, they would have to stay in the
car, which would be exceedingly obvious, and highly unprofessional, or park
elsewhere and come back on foot. Once they were on foot, they were vulnerable
and open to counter measures.

He
wasn’t expecting any unwanted visitors, at least not today. A three man hit
team was nearly always successful. Today's probably would have been, but for
Norton spotting the driver emptying his cup out the window. It would take at
least a day for Holmes to gear up another attempt when he found out this one
had failed. But by tomorrow night, if Norton had his way, Holmes would no
longer be a threat.

"There'll
be plates in the cupboard," he said as Sarah put the cartons on a work
surface, "I'll be back in a minute."

He
left her and went into the front garden. The sign on a plastic pole bore the
legend, 'To Let - Sole Agents, Chalmers & Lang,' with a phone number
printed below. Any prospective tenant ringing about this property would hear a
message saying it was no longer available. He took the removable 'To Let'
portion from the sign and turned it around before replacing it. The sign now
informed the inquisitive, 'Let By - Sole Agents, Chalmers & Lang'.

"Is
this your place as well?" Sarah asked as he locked the kitchen door.

"No.
It belongs to the people I work for. You'll be safe here for a couple of
days."

Sarah
nodded in reply.

She
broke the seals on the cartons and pursed her lips to blow away the vaporous
wisps of steam that escaped and rose into her face. After scooping the contents
onto the plates, she placed the empty cartons in a plastic bag and dropped it
in the bin.

"It's
ready," she said, handing him one of the plates heaped with food. "I couldn't
find any dishes, so I've piled it all on."

"It'll
save on the washing up."

They
walked through to a dining area and sat at a large rectangular table. A carver
chair occupied each end while six matching dining chairs, three on either side,
completed the suite.

He
poured two glasses of wine, handing one to Sarah. "To your new found
freedom," he said, "may it start
soon.
"

They
touched glasses and drank the toast, finishing their meal in silence.

Norton
pushed his empty plate away. "I didn't realise how much I needed
that."

"Me
too," she said, smiling thinly, "it felt like I hadn't eaten for a
week."

She
laid her knife and fork on the plate, adjusting them so they lay parallel.
Still looking at the plate she said, "Are you going after Peter
Holmes?"

"Yes."

He
had told her about the hit team on the drive over and that Holmes had sent them
to kill him. The fact that the gunman did not shoot as soon as he saw him meant
Sarah was on the contract as well, and they would need to know where she was.
He knew that had they been together, they would both be dead. That part he left
out, she was already scared, and there was little point in making her feel even
worse.

"Sarah,"
he said, "he has ordered, or at least been heavily involved in the murder
of a lot of people over the last few days. Two of those people were very dear
to me. It's no longer just my job to stop him, he's made it personal."

Her
eyes shone bright with tears. "Are you going to kill him?"

"Only if he gives me no other choice."
His answer was
devoid of emotion, simply the stating of a fact.

A
tear rolled from the corner of one eye and steadily moved down her cheek,
coming to a rest at the corner of her mouth.

"Did
you grow fond of him while you were with him?" he asked, wondering if her need
for freedom was being overshadowed by the deaths she had been witness to since
they met.

"No,"
she laughed, just a short exhalation of air, without a trace of humour.

"Then why the tears?"
He put his hand
to her face and lightly brushed the damp line with his thumb.

"They're
not for him," she said, almost at a whisper. "They’re for you."

She
looked at him and took his hand in hers, holding it to her face, squeezing it
gently. "He's surrounded himself with killers," she said, and paused.
Norton was about to speak when she continued. "Sam, I've only been with
you for such a short time, but it feels like I've known you all my life."
Her lips brushed gently across his knuckles. "You're the first man that
I've really felt safe with. The last thing I want now is for you to get
hurt."

He
looked into her eyes. The lower lashes sparkled as though lined with miniature
jewels as her tears caught the light. "Sarah, there's no need for you to
worry about me. For most of my adult life, I've been stopping men like Peter
Holmes. It's what I
do,
it's what I'm used to. It's
what I do best."

"Can't
you just leave it to the police? We could go away somewhere," she
shrugged, "while they take care of him. At least that way we could have a
little time together."

"I
can't do that. We can still have time together I would really like that. But
stopping Holmes is something that I have to do. I can't leave it for someone
else to take care of, not now. Can you understand that?"

She
sighed. "I don't like it," she said, "but I understand it."

Without
looking at him, she collected the plates and took them into the kitchen. He
watched from the doorway as she placed them in the dishwasher and started the
machine's cycle. She stood back from the washer and leant against the sink
drainer, folding her arms across her stomach, giving him a weak smile. A smile
that just moved the corners of her mouth. He felt sorry for her. Her eyes were
dull and reddened by both tears and tiredness. He could not even begin to
imagine the turmoil her mind must be going through. From the dubious safety of
working for Holmes to the point of not allowing yourself, on pain of death, to
be seen by his employees, was a large jump for any person to accept. He only
hoped that after the next twenty-four hours she could start to get her life
back together without having to constantly look over her shoulder.

"You'll
find some clothes in the bedrooms upstairs," he said, hoping the activity
would help to refocus her mind, if only for a couple of hours. "There are
all sorts of sizes and colours," he added, "I'm sure you'll find
something to suit."

"It'll
be nice to get out of these," she said, looking down at the sweatshirt and
trousers.

"There's
only a shower, no bath I'm afraid, not that it matters. Everything you'll need
is up there."

She
pushed herself off the drainer and ran her hands through her hair. "I'll
go and use it now, will you still be here when I've finished?"

He
nodded. "I'll be sorting out some gear for a while. I'll be away in a
couple of hours."

Sarah
followed him up the stairs. He put the canvas holdall in the rear bedroom
before showing her the bathroom and the other bedrooms. He left her in the
master bedroom sorting out clothing from one of the wardrobes.

He
returned to the rear bedroom and began checking the contents of the holdall. He
took out his body armour with a ceramic insert designed to stop high velocity
bullets and set it against the headboard. A pump action shotgun came next. This
particular model had a moulded pistol grip in place of a butt and had been
specially prepared for close quarters combat. It had a very short range, no
more than twenty yards, but was ideal for house clearance due to its 26-inch
length. It was designed to be fired from the hip and had one extra that Norton
preferred, a built in laser sight. After checking the battery level for the
sight, he loaded the shotgun with eight cartridges, each one only two inches in
length and containing five ball bearings. He pumped the action to load the
first round into the chamber and laid it on the bed. He placed a pair of night
vision glasses next to it and took out a second laser sight, which he checked
and laid on the pillow. A pair of thin bladed throwing knives in a wrist
sheath, a black windcheater and a pair of black leather gloves completed the
contents.

He
drew the Sig from the shoulder holster, unloaded it and stripped it down into
its main parts then used a cleaning kit from a pocket in the holdall to wipe
away the carbon deposits that had formed when it had been fired. After lightly
oiling the slide and return spring, he reassembled it and fitted the laser
sight. He returned it to its holster and ran his eye over the equipment on the
bed. Satisfied he had all he would need he replaced the items in the holdall
and zipped it shut.

He
carried the holdall to the top of the stairs and set it down as Sarah appeared
in the bedroom doorway. The dark blue dressing gown she wore looked three sizes
too big. She had rolled the sleeves up into thick blue cuffs and the hem was
doubled over on the carpet.

"You'll
need a map to get out of that," he said, smiling at her appearance.

Her
own forced smile faded into a look of concern. "Are you going now?"
she asked.

Her
hair, still damp from the shower framed her face. She looked vulnerable and
afraid. She stared at him, eyes moist. Her lips parted slightly, giving a brief
glimpse of white, even teeth. He walked to her and caressed her face with his
hand.

"I'll
be going soon," he said. "I want you to stay in the house until I
come back because you'll be safe here. Tomorrow I'll take you home because
you'll be safe there as well."

She
took one pace forward and kissed him on the lips. He took her in his arms, the
kiss lingering between them.

"Make
love to me," she whispered.

Their
lips met again as he stooped and lifted her off the floor. Cradling her in his
powerful arms, he carried her effortlessly across the room and laid her gently
on the bed.